Post by Chance on Jul 3, 2008 12:52:24 GMT -5
(Ask please)
Chance bit his lip as he hid behind the tree. What the heck was he doing? Oh thats right, protecting his reputation. It was all Racetrack's fault. The idiot. Why did he always have to come up with the best dares? The better question was why did Chance always agree to them. Again, he was protecting his reputation. Chance argued with himself, switching sides every few seconds. This was so stupid, but oh so funny. This could get you killed, or it could get you praise! Chance chewed on his bottom lip, trying to decided what to do.
Okay, he'd do it. Chance looked around, making sure there wasn't any scary looking people holding guns. Get a hold of yourself! Chance knew he was being foolish. This was just Midtown, not Hell's Kitchen. But Mike...
Chance shuddered at the thought of Mike. That evil meanie had put a spell on his brother. That was the major reason why Chance hated Mike. He took his brother from him. But other reasons were because he got Chance in trouble. But that was a thing of the past, right now Chance was focused on the task at hand.
Looking around for what seemed like the hundredth time, Chance took a tentative step forward. Clearing his throat, Chance prepared himself for what he was about to do. He took one more step. He had to do it; he had to do it now. There was no going back. Unless... Race wasn't here. Chance could lie and say he did it when he really didn't. No, that was so... Un-Chance like. He would do what he said he would.
Chance began to scream at the top of his lungs and run around the field. Yes, this was the dreaded dare: running around Maisey's Field screaming at the top of your lungs. Oh, and it gets worse.
Chance pulled of his top shirt, thankful that he had worn two today, and began to wave it over his head. His screaming turned to and Indian war call. This was so Race's idea. After several seconds of this, Chance fell down and laid on his back, trying to catch his breath. What had he just done? Made a fool of himself on enemy territory. Pretty much.
Chance bit his lip as he hid behind the tree. What the heck was he doing? Oh thats right, protecting his reputation. It was all Racetrack's fault. The idiot. Why did he always have to come up with the best dares? The better question was why did Chance always agree to them. Again, he was protecting his reputation. Chance argued with himself, switching sides every few seconds. This was so stupid, but oh so funny. This could get you killed, or it could get you praise! Chance chewed on his bottom lip, trying to decided what to do.
Okay, he'd do it. Chance looked around, making sure there wasn't any scary looking people holding guns. Get a hold of yourself! Chance knew he was being foolish. This was just Midtown, not Hell's Kitchen. But Mike...
Chance shuddered at the thought of Mike. That evil meanie had put a spell on his brother. That was the major reason why Chance hated Mike. He took his brother from him. But other reasons were because he got Chance in trouble. But that was a thing of the past, right now Chance was focused on the task at hand.
Looking around for what seemed like the hundredth time, Chance took a tentative step forward. Clearing his throat, Chance prepared himself for what he was about to do. He took one more step. He had to do it; he had to do it now. There was no going back. Unless... Race wasn't here. Chance could lie and say he did it when he really didn't. No, that was so... Un-Chance like. He would do what he said he would.
Chance began to scream at the top of his lungs and run around the field. Yes, this was the dreaded dare: running around Maisey's Field screaming at the top of your lungs. Oh, and it gets worse.
Chance pulled of his top shirt, thankful that he had worn two today, and began to wave it over his head. His screaming turned to and Indian war call. This was so Race's idea. After several seconds of this, Chance fell down and laid on his back, trying to catch his breath. What had he just done? Made a fool of himself on enemy territory. Pretty much.
